High Crimes Against Mister Riddle
by SweetMary
Summary: A DHr series beginning at the DeathEater style procecution of one Draco Malfoy. RIP My Muse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**– It's great to be working on something again. Sorry for discontinuing They Are Us but my muse just fell over and died. However, when I was waiting for my brother to finish something up, I scribbled down the first chapter of this.

This was the initial checklist for my story- _"Unique, Romantic, Clever, At-Times-Funny, Bantery, Exciting, Deep, Post-Hogwarts, Mysterious, and Tragicheroesque."_

Without further ado, I present to you High Crimes Against Mister Riddle.

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"Come forward, Malfoy" spits his aunt, avid to rid her blood red lips of the offensive name.

_Blood. I see too much blood these days_.

She had been his favorite aunt at one time. It was almost funny to him that they had called themselves family back then. He loved hearing her gruesome stories and seeing that convicted, ardent spark in her eyes as she rambled, dramatically, about all things macabre. If he wasn't encircled by bloodthirsty Death Eaters, he may have let out an pseudo chuckle. One could say that Draco Malfoy had a sardonic sense of humor, but he feels that laughter is a gift and will take it in any form it presents itself. He has tried to forget some of his scarlet-stained past and in doing so lost his mental grip on his lighter memories. He can hardly remember the last time he laughed; he fears that he may have forgotten how.

"Death to the boy!" calls out a quivering voice.

"Control yourself, Pettigrew. The time for your input will come in due time. Now, you must be patient," he said, with mock concern, "as I decide upon a proper punishment by reviewing his penalties against our league. I would hate to squander away our time by being vindictive, but I think it's imperative that we know exactly what treason he has committed. If we were to hastily dispose of him, he could carry his secrets to the grave. Do not fret, justice will be served."

_That's the most bloody ironic thing I have ever heard._

Before he could react, they Imperio Draco and their master begins intricate movements with his wand. His eyes,

_Those are not eyes. They are scarlet pits of death and destruction. Eyes are the gateway to the soul. In order to have eyes, one must have a soul; seven severed pieces do not count._

close in deep concentration as he recites the incantation softly. One moment Draco is seeing masked cowards and the next his life is whizzing by him. He sees his memories.

_The library, the fight, the hill, the meeting, the letter,_

He is horrified when he pieces together what they are doing.

_the present, the truce, the necklace_

He sees them stream out in a palpable red rope as the people swarm in closer, like moths to the fire. His memories are spinning around each other now, knotting and crossing and disappearing into eachother.

_the night, the owl._

He gasped.

_the girl._

Draco Malfoy knew that he would die a painful death when he saw the end of the rope fly into the mess of a pile it sorted itself out into chronological order. In one quick moment all of the ends spiraled inwards towards one point where they made a large crack and disappeared.

And then, red like his aunts lips, red like the blood, red like his past, and red like Voldemort's not-quite-eyes, an apparition appeared.

"My most loyal, we will be shown a slew of memories robbed from Draco Malfoy's highly guarded mind. Now, we shall see one by one the crimes this boy has committed."

_How dare he meet my eyes with those slits of crimson hate._

"And for crimes against the Dark Lord, Draco, you shall pay dearly."

A/N– So I'm starting here. Every chapter for a while will tell of a certain crime and relive the memory and then at the end we'll be back here and we'll see what happens. Review!


	2. Failing To Act

Disclaimer- Don't own it. Okay!

"Failing to act Draco, when given a blatant, wieldy opportunity, tsk tsk," clucks the Dark Lord with a condescending frown on his _not_ _quite a _face, "That was not fulfilling your duties as a spy."

"Memoria rubicundus!"

Draco and the others watch the ruddy bundle with bated breath, expecting it to move or to morph or become real; instead, the incantation causes the crimson mess to expand in all directions until it's engulfing them all.

_Crimson mess. Murder left and right; that day was a crimson mess._

Draco doesn't know if it's time travel or if it's some involuntarily recorded pensieve because it's old, intense magic. It feels like they're being thrust down off of a cliff or something. Not down, in particular, but it doesn't feel like up either, really. His head is throbbing in such a hot, bold, terrible fashion that he know's it's dark magic seeping through his blood and licking his mind with it's flames. He's feeling nauseous now; he tries to cry out but the rushing, russet winds around him steal the sound before it even leaves his mouth. He wonders vaguely if they're really in some red, windswept continuum or if the curse was so torturous that the aftershock pain is the only thing he can see.

_All he could see._

He can see vague half-people now as the ruddy fog is lifting. Maybe they're traveling with him; maybe they've already arrived.

Soon the mist has faded and he sees a scene from a few months prior with crystal clarity. He sees the Death Eaters and their master as translucent, blurred _not quite_ people as his past becomes reality and they become ghosts of the future...mirages...a dream...a _nightmare._

And his head still stings like bloody hell.

A handsome young blond waits outside of a shabby door. A plump, redheaded woman opens the door and promptly faints.

"Molly dear," says an agitated Arthur Weasley, "if no one's there come back insid-"

He stops abruptly when he sees his comatose wife and the unexpected visitor. The uninvited _criminal_, to be precise.

"Harry!" the man yells fervently, "Hermione! Get down here!"

"I mean no harm, sir" sighs a cautious Draco Malfoy, clearly choking down the invective racing through his ind.

Arthur sends him a goofy, suspicious, and intentionally-intimidating-but-inadvertently-laughable stare for a good three minutes before a shout resonated from behind him.

It's Harry Potter; He's angry. The hair with legs beside him doesn't look to happy either.

"What are you _doing_ here Malfoy?" trembles Hermione furiously.

"If I could-"

It's then that Harry speaks.

"Avada Kedr-owww Hermione!"

A winded Granger hovers over the boy-who-lived-even-though-she-had-forcibly-shoved-him-down.

"We can't bloody well kill him now, Harry" she gasps for air, "You don't need a criminal record."

Potters eyes are enough to kill at this moment. He sends a galvanized, betrayed and hideously angry glare at his best friend.

"Do not, _ever_, do that to me again!" he bellows at her dangerously.

She flinches and Draco finds himself getting angry that Potter would verbally manhandle her. Not that it matters.

"And you," he hisses at Draco. When his eyes are shining at him Draco can't help but shrug away from their jade spotlight. They hurt him somehow. So green. Green like the curse that Potter attempts again before the silly mudblood Stupify's him.

Before Granger can think, he's holding her wand and Arthur Weasley is on the ground.

"This place is still lacking both class and manners, I see," he says coldly, "It's so terrible to have to invite oneself in."

He steps over bodies to get into the main room.

_Like the battle. Stepping over so many bodies; some friends, professors, people undefined by the hot, matted crimson that had engulfed them that day._

"You need to listen to me, Granger. You need to stop calculating a way to get out of here and trust me."

"Here," he says, gesturing to the couch.

"How can I trust a murderer, Malfoy? Who can trust a back stabber?"

"You can't. No one can, you foolish girl. Unfortunately for you, I am at a point of terrible advantage here, so going with whatever I say would probably ensure you a longer life."

For a moment she's just a girl and he's just a boy and the only thing he can do is pray.

Draco Malfoy shuts his eyes for a moment before facing her once more.

"I'm here to start over."

"Malfoy," barks the Dark Lord as the rush of memories spins back into a bundle once more, "is it true that you stayed with the _wandless, defenseless_ mudblood of Harry Potter for over an hour and did not capture her, question her, or make her more than averagely uncomfortable?"

He breaths three shallow breaths.

"Yes."

A/n– thanks to all three of my amazing reviewers. I love you all on an intimate and individual level.


	3. Defiance and Lies

The red ambiance of this horrid travel engulfs them. The burning magic is coursing through his skull again, and giving him the most irritating migraine. He screams out, in pain, but the air rips the sound from his throat before anyone can hear it.

I guess it's a good thing, he thinks because they love to hear you scream.

There had been so much screaming that day. Horrible, piercing screams. Final screams. Vile, wicked laughter.

"Your fatuous acts disappoint me, Draco. Here I thought you had potential to be something great. But it seems you have been weak from the start."

Draco can't tell if he's hearing real sound or if Voldemort is speaking through his mind. At any rate, he can't respond.

It's not that bad though, that he can't speak. Because the next thing he sees leaves him speechless.

They were half-people once more, as they stood around a hill a few blocks away from the Weasley's shack-house.

Hermione and Draco were sitting across from each other with their legs crossed.

"Why, again, did you insist I come out here with you?" Draco asks, pompously, "how many times do I have to tell you it could never work out between us. I know that I'm devastatingly handsome, rich, a-"

"Malfoy. Stop it. You know that I wouldn't be drawn to you, ever. Not even in my worst nightmare."

That day was his worst nightmare.

A flash of hurt crosses his face, before his smirk is back in place. But his eyes give him away. He can see it now that he's witnessing it secondhand. He wonders if Voldemort sees it. He wonders if she sees it.

"We're here because I can't fix the Weasley's and I think it's creepy of me to just sit in that room with you, talking as if my friends weren't comatose on the floor."

Fix. What a funny word for to have used. Like people could be fixed as easily as wands or caldrons.

If you're in the people-fixing business, he thinks, you should give me a go. I'm pretty damned broken. I'm about as fucked up as they get.

"Well, now that we're sitting on this big pile of dirt-"

"Pleasant hill-"

"What do you suppose we talk about?"

Hermione opens her mouth and then shuts it again.

"No, I don't think your ability to look like a fish is worth discussing."

Clearly, this is an important decision to her. She sits there and calculates for a minute.

"Let's play Truth."

"What the hell is that?"

"How have you not played this before? What did you do on car trips or part-" she sits there for a moment, realizing by the foreign look on his face that he did not go on car trips or to Truth kind of parties.

"Okay, Truth was a game invented by evil preteen girls. You ask one person a question and they have to tell the truth. For each question you ask you're entitled to a followup question. Let's say you don't want to answer your question. You say 'pass'. If I can answer the next question you ask me I win. But if I can't, the game continues. It can last from hours to months."

"How do you know I'm not going to lie, Granger?" he says slickly.

She grabs his hand and a surprised, but smug look crosses his face.

"And you claimed you weren't into me."

"Iureiurando!"she says, and a blue mist wraps around both of their wrists before evaporating.

"That's how I know, Malfoy. And don't kid yourself. New kid goes first."

"How did you just do wandless magic?"

"It's a simple spell, made specifically for this game."

He was making no effort to hide his fascination.

"Do you know any other wandless magic?"

She hesitates.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you harm me?"

He glares at her and thinks for a moment.

"I didn't want to."

Really mature, Draco, really witty, he chides himself.

"Why didn't you want to?"

"You're the most rational. How else was I suppose to get a word in about why I'm here?"

"Do you know any dark magic?" he asks.

He waits for her answer as if it's the most interesting thing he will ever hear.

"Yes."

"Have you ever preformed it?"

"Yes."

His eyebrows raise as he looks at her inquisitively.

"Why did you come here?"

He can't lie, but the truth will get him killed.

"To gain the trust of the light side."

"But why?"

"Pass."

This game intrigues him terribly and he wants to keep it going. A humiliating question could save him.

"Granger. Out of Weasley, Potter, and I, who would you most like to shag?"

Her cheeks are on fire and she looks at him as if she wants nothing more than to drop dead, she's so ashamed.

"Pass."

"What now?" he asks.

"Well, those questions are taboo and the game continues."

"Who is your best friend?"

He considers his answer and it stings.

"I don't have any real friends."

"Do you want them?"

He tries to say At times, I think they would be beneficial, but the only thing that comes out is

"Yes."

Damned spell.

"Do you fancy the little Weasle king?"

Her brain shouts I should but her heart shouts I can't.

"No."

"Potter?"

"At one time, but not anymore. Not for a few years."

"Who was the last girl you fancied?"

"Cho Chang."

"When was this?"

"Ugh, Granger. Pre-Potter, I'll tell you that."

He tries to say I would never like a girl that Potter pawed all over but he couldn't.

"How far have you gone with a bloke?"

"Just snogging."

"Aw, isn't that precious?" he teased. "Who was he?"

"More than one guy."

"How far have you gone with a girl?"

"I'm no prude Granger. I've gone all the way."

"Who was the most recent slu-girl?"

"I can't recall her name. Some sixth year."

She grimaces, and for a moment he looks ashamed.

"Who were these fine young gentlemen?"

"One was Victor. The other was Ron."

"Didn't you say that you didn't fancy him? If this truth spell only works on me, I think this is hardly fair and-"

"Just because I don't fancy him doesn't mean he doesn't fancy me."

"Why do you care about my love life?"

"I'm trying to learn more about you, and this are things I could never find out in a real conversation."

"You do realize that talking and answering isn't just a game, you could always get to know people?"

"Yes."

"Hey!" she says indignantly, "that wasn't my ques-"

"Too bad. Before I forget, where did you learn this dark magic?"

She exhales loudly, obviously whining.

"The restricted section of the library."

"Why did you use it?"

She wants to say self defense but instead she says

"Because the book says that dark magic is more intricate than regular magic. That only really gifted people could use it. I had to prove to myself that I could do it."

"Have you ever used dark magic?"

"Yes, Granger."

"Where did you learn it?"

"In my lovely home."

He's getting detached.

"Do you have self-esteem issues?"

"No."

"Then why are you always so eager to prove yourself?" he asks cynically, "What's the point?"

"So that when people like you tell me that I'm dirt I have something to assure myself that I'm just as good as they are. As you are."

"Why didn't you kill Dumbledore?"

"He talked me out of it."

"Was it for your benefit or for his?"

"Both" he says, and they're both at a loss for words.

She stands up and they head back towards the house.

"Let's continue this anoth-"

Her voice begins to fade.

The pain is returning. The red winds are surrounding them once more.

"Mr. Malfoy, it was at this point that you dug your own grave. You not only played friendly with this girl again, but you told her something you hadn't told us. By choice, you defied your order to kill Albus Dumbledore and then lied about your motives to your master."

And there is only one thing he can say to that.

"You," he starts, so furious he was trembling, "are not my master."

He can't believe he was able to speak out and be heard, above the terrible miasma.

It is at this point that the tiniest bit of hope in him is restored.


	4. Disgrace in General

AN- If you're still reading this I have three things to say to you. Thank you. You're amazing. Want to be my beta reader? If you have any interest you can leave your email in a review and I will contact you ASAP.

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"_CRUCIO!"_

_Draco is on the ground now. He had a death grip on his head-he felt like it would explode._

_But he would not scream._

_He wouldn't._

_His knuckles begin to bleed._

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

_And as soon as his cry of weakness pierced the air, the curse had ended._

"_That, my little quisling, was for being such an abjact recreant, and a disgrace to purebloods in general."_

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The scenery is changing.

"Shall we continue that another time, then?" he asks, smirking, "I thought it was quite an engaging little game."'

She looks at him, surprised.

"Well, alright."

They are nearing the Weasley's doorstep now.

"Granger," Draco says, turning around to looking her square in the eyes, "all those things we talked about, they're-"

"to be strictly confidential. It's the rules."

He's looking at her gratefully, now. She turns away.

"So, how are we going to explain this?" he asks, with a shadow of a frown.

He hasn't frowned thoroughly in a while. He hears it could cause wrinkles, or something dreadful like that.

"_We_ aren't explaining anything because _we_ didn't do a thing!" she bursts out, suddenly snappish.

"Why, yes we di-"

"No Malfoy, not _we._ YOU. My name is _not _ to be dragged into this scrape."

She is shoving his shoulders now.

"The question is, how are _you_ going to explain this?"

His voice is a raspy hiss the next time he speaks.

"I know this might be painfully difficult for you, but you are not to touch me ever. Again."

He forcibly rips her hands off of him, and in the summer heat, she shivers.

"Why are you so damn _weak,_ Granger? One moment you're acting on impulse and the next you're so con-fucking-cerned about what you're friends think that you're delusional enough to believe that you're name is still golden-that you're still perfectly innocent. Because let's be real, you have to be, or they won't accept you."

His eyes are as callous as stone.

Her benign orbs are hazing over with fear and revulsion.

The first time he saw that look, he thought she was revolted with him.

_This time it's clearly self-loathing. _

And then there is a flicker in his eyes. It is comforting for her to know that he can still feel.

It isn't so comforting when she recognizes that spark though.

It's the one he had before he first called her a mudblood. She remembers his eyes before the Cedric Diggory buttons lit up. The same glint was there before he conducted the first round of Weasley is Our King.

This is the look Malfoy reserves for those times when he's just found your weakness and is about to expose it.

"And it scares the hell out of you, because you know every single word I say is true."

She inhales deeply in an attempt to steady her voice.

"That, is _not. _True."

But she can't help it; her voice is shaking now.

"Admit to me that I'm right about everything and I won't walk into this wretched little hovel and tell every person I see that you knocked out Scarface, forced me to climb up a hill with you, and proceeded to teach me a worthless muggle game."

He's looming over her now.

"**Admit it, Granger**."

Her eyes are dangerously thin. She purses her lips and chokes out her words softly.

"Iguessyou'right."

He takes a step forward and she instinctively scoots back until her spine is in contact with something solid.

"You're really shouldn't mumble, Granger."

He swoops down so that they're hardly a breadth away.

His eyes are searching for hers, but she's looking at the ground.

When she meets them, she shrinks back against the wall even more.

They're chilling.

"Say. It. Again."

She never would have done it if he wasn't pissing her off, confusing the hell out of her, and smelling like heaven all at the same time.

"You're. Right."

Her accent is clipped and clear.

She reflects on what it was like to have dignity.

"Why, that's all I need to hear."

His hand is coming toward her and she flinches and tries to become one with the wall.

A blonde eyebrow arches flawlessly and a Slytherin smirks.

"Could you do me a favor, Granger darling?"

His breath is fanning across her face.

She can't think of anyone else who could sweet talk her and use her surname all in one breath.

She freezes in trepidation as she anticipates his next move. They're so close now that if one of them stepped an inch forward there would be no space between them at all. Just heat.

"Could you move that little body of yours so that I can open the door?"

She's blushing like mad and she's not sure why she's embarrassed at all.

"..wow, that fish impression of yours is getting pretty impressive," he says, chuckling at her indignance.

She relaxes, visibly, and let's out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

The door opens to reveal an irate Ron Weasley.

"Why the bloody hell is Malfoy here?"

His wand is at said enemy's neck, but Draco remains passive.

"I'm not attacking you Weasley. I'm not even reminding you that you're ugly, mediocre, p-"

"Ron. What Malfoy means to say is that-"

"I can speak for myself, you know, woman."

"Well this really isn't the way to make a great first impression."

"It's not exactly a first impression."

"I'm only trying to help you, you know."

Ron was speechless as he watched his best friend banter with Draco Malfoy with a mannerism not unlike his parents.

Ew.

"Somebody want to tell me WHAT is going on before I KILL him?"

Things are tense again.

There is silence.

"HERMIONE GRANGER, tell me RIGHT NOW, why I came back to my home to find my parents and Harry unconscious while you're off on a god damned stroll with this MURDERER."

Draco glares at her.

_She'd better not take that from him,_ he thinks.

"Well, Ron, Malfoy, he c-came in and everyone was stupefied or knocked out and he only left me awake because he knew that you and Ha-harry would go into a blind rage the moment you saw him and I would be the only-the only logical one. He has something that he wants to say to everyone."

Draco doesn't remember having ever heard her stutter before.

"Please don't do anything rash, Ronald."

She looked like a puppy who had just been hit by a newspaper for no good reason.

"You're the LOGICAL one, Hermione? More like _female_. What did he do for you, huh? A quick shag? I mean, I know that you're probably _starving_ for that kind of attention, but from HIM? That's just bloody pathetic!"

_She'd better not take it._

Tears welled up in her eyes and she shoved past Ron and disappeared up the stairs before anyone had the chance to see her cry.

_I cannot believe she just took that from him. _

Draco sidesteps Ron and sits down on a chair, making himself comfortable and kicking Molly Weasley's inanimate body aside to make proper foot room.

Ron was glaring at a corner.

_Way to go, fuckwit._

"Make them wake up."

Surprisingly, Draco does a few silent spells and the whole crowd is slowly coming back to consciousness.

Arthur Weasley scratches his head and raises a very important question

"Wha' hap-"

But nobody can stop Harry Potter from attacking Draco Malfoy in that moment.

The raven-haired boy is driven by human instinct. He wants to avenge his own. His wand is long forgotten and his hands are encircling his enemy's neck.

"Where's Hermione, Malfoy? What'd you do to her?"

And Draco can't breath until Harry loosens his grip, but somehow his voice is composed as he speaks.

"She's safe and sound, Potter. She's upstairs."

"I don't believe you! Last time I saw her she sent a spell at me. She doesn't just _do_ that Malfoy. What'd you do? Is she under the Imperious? I swear to God Malfoy if you've cast an Unforgivable on her you are never going to see the light of day again. If you aren't thrown into Azkaban with a life sentence I will kill you MYSELF."

Draco's voice isn't so collected this time. He's wheezing for air, now.

"Look at me, Potter. I have my wand but I'm not using it. I did. Not. Touch. Her."

No one dares break the silence that ensues until

"Harry, dear, loosen your grip a little! We can't figure this out until he gives us an explanation, and he can't do that if he's dead."

Mrs. Weasley was clutching her side but she didn't know why it stung.

Draco takes a deep inhale.

"Here's my wand, Potter. Take it. I need you to relax for a minute and listen to me."

Harry grabs the wand and inspects it; it's definitely the real thing.

"I'm going to make some tea to calm my nerves. Wouldn't hurt for any of you to have some either."

The room is officially free of women; the real negotiating can begin.

"Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy, and tell us what your business here is."

Draco desperately wants to say that he'd never do any sort of business with a stupid plebeian like Weasley.

"First thing first. I need all of you to know that I am not a Death Eater. I have not been marked."

His sleeve is pulled upward and Harry is shocked, to say the least.

"But, you, you killed Dumbledore!"

Ron never did have good timing.

Draco becomes cold and detatched.

"Let's set it straight, shall we? I may be responsible for his death, but I did not kill him. I have not killed."

"And I suppose you could have called that my failure of an initiation."

He lets out a bitter laugh.

"What, do you expect us to trust you or something? To take you in as a double spy? Damned lot of good that did for Dumbledore! Do you expect us to accept you like we did Snape? Thanks to you and that git, Professor Dumbledore is gone, and that kind of kindness gone with him."

"I am a rogue, Potter. I have left Voldemort's circle. Forget what you know about me. Give me another chance; judge me now, for who I am."

Potter is glaring at him disapprovingly.

How can he give a second chance to the man who caused the death of his guardian?

Draco can see the hurt in his eyes. His words are scathing.

"Or am I to be blamed for a crime I did not commit?"

Arthur Weasley asks Draco to please help Molly in the kitchen; they need to talk privately.

_He never knew what they had said during his absence, but somehow this curse let them see everything. _

"Harry, I know that this is hard for you. Really hard. But I think Albus would have wanted you to give him a chance."

Ron is still sulking.

"What do you think about it, Ron? What happened while I was gone?"

"Well, I opened the door and Hermione and Malfoy were getting all cozy. So you know, I yellledatherandmadeherfeelikeawhore."

"Wait! Why were they outside of the door? What do you mean by getting cozy? And I couldn't hear that last part..."

"They had gone on a walk or something. And he was...talking to her."

Ron's ashamed at how innocent it sounds when he says it out loud.

"..But he was all hunched over and they were really close. "

Potter looks like he's waiting for something.

"So they were talking outside and you opened the door and..."

"Yelled at Hermione."

"Oh gods, Ron!" Harry is quite aggravated, now, "You're the reason she's hiding upstairs!"

_Damn right he was. _

"I just-it just made me really mad to see her with him! She was trying to help him- like, like she trusted him or something."

"Well, if she trusts him...maybe you should give him a chance."

Arthur Weasley pauses to choose his words very carefully.

"She's never been wrong before."

"Mr. Weasley," Harry says, not making eye contact, "Dumbledore was never wrong before, either."

Mr. Weasley hunches forward and speaks in a heated whisper.

"But think, Harry! Think how useful it would be to have the Malfoy boy on our side!"

Harry casts a look at Ron who shrugs his shoulders.

"It's your call, mate. You know what they say: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

_Weasel._

"Malfoy!", Potter barks.

Draco enters with Mrs. Weasley behind him.

"Okay Malfoy. Listen up. I figure if you've betrayed them and whatnot, the death eaters are after that pasty arse of yours. You may stay here while we figure out what the arrangements will be. You are on very thin ground. You must be courteous to the Weasley's, Hermione, and myself; you should be pretty damned grateful that you're here. No one can know where you're staying. A Death Eater raid isn't the best 'thank you' present, agreed? I will call a meeting with the Order, soon. For now, I reserve judgement. One toe out of line and you're on the streets. Are we understood?"

_Who the hell do you think I am?_

_No, no, and absolutely not. _

"Yes, Potter, we're understood."


End file.
